About 3 months after I lost my virginity I seemed to become a target for slightly pervy older men. I don't know why, maybe I started to carry myself differently or suddenly had an air of sexuality about me, but I'm almost certain that I wasn't asking for it. It was probably the last time in my life, in fact, that I wasn't.
It was just after my eighteenth birthday, and I had been skipped ahead in History, after completing the GCSE, with the top grade possible, the previous summer. I was brilliant at History and intended to study it at University. Because I had been put in an A Level class, ahead of my age, maybe some of the hormones and horniness of the kids in there rubbed off on me, as Mr. Newark obviously fancied me. He definitely paid me more attention and by the time Christmas rolled around, was singling me out for special treatment. It sounds stupid now, but for a long time I honestly didn't understand the sexual slant of his attention. Until the evening in his office, in fact.
Like I say, I had lost my virginity, with a boy named Oliver, who as it happens, was in that A Level class. He was 18 and a bit geeky and the sex had been over at done in six minutes, timed on his bedroom clock. It hadn't been terrible, but neither had it been anything much. Whilst I wasn't traumatised by it, I hadn't felt any pleasure either and we had broken it off soon after that when I decided I didn't much fancy repeating the experience. There had been sexual pleasure in my life, I masturbated and had sexual feelings whilst watching late-night telly where women got their boobs out, and often frigged my barely broken in little pussy to a hot, sticky cum in my own bed, late at night, whilst thinking about whatever boyband member or schoolgirl crush I had that week, but these sexual feelings were fairly innocent. I hadn't even seen proper porn then: the internet was well established but our one computer, complete with dial-up internet, was in the family room. Anyway, I wasn't fully aware of the existence of porn! It seems crazy how little I knew.
Mr. Newark must have been excited by that innocence then, as I am almost certain that is what he saw in me that so turned him on. 40ish and not in bad shape, he was a decent looking, okay guy, who like I said, could be a little creepy with the sixth formers, and that winter had turned his attention to me.
One night, just before Christmas, he kept me back after class. At a recent parents evening I had said that I wanted to be a History teacher myself, and he had been looking at some degree courses I might be interested in.
"Come to my office at around 5," he began, "After I've finished coaching year 8 football, and I will show you the prospectuses." It wasn't a request, it was an order.
When I arrived at 5, he was sitting already in his office, in shorts and a teeshirt, a bit sweaty from his exertions with year 8. I knocked nervously on the door. He greeted me and asked me to sit on a chair opposite him, closing the door as he did so. What happened next was an entirely banal twenty minutes, as he showed me the courses and I nodded dumbly, a bit bored and ready to go home. I had no inkling that anything weird was on the cards and at this stage, was right not to. He didn't do anything to make me suspect what was about to happen. I got up to go and that was when he said the first strange thing of the evening.
"Beth," he began, "I have a daughter about your age." I nodded.
"Really Sir?" He nodded.
"Yes. Jessica she's called." I didn't understand where this was going. "And recently she's just begun to grow breasts." Involuntarily, I blushed. This was strange. "I want to buy her a bra, Beth, and I wondered if you could help me." I was mortified, why was my history teacher suddenly talking about bras in front of me? "Take your blazer off Beth." For some reason I did it, and putting it down on the chair behind me, Mr. Newark walked over and looked down at my chest. He peered through my white shirt and at the lacy fabric underneath. He reached out and undid the top two buttons. My large breasts spilled out.
"Sir!" I exclaimed, snatching my blouse back and covering them back up. The bra beneath was light pink and the cups were lace. My nipples peaked through the fabric.
"You shouldn't be shy," Mr. Newark said, "you've got lovely big breasts. I've noticed them a lot since you've been in my class." I still clasped my blouse to me. "You should let me touch them. Then I could help you out." Help me out? But how? "That essay you've been struggling with. For coursework. I have written a copy for you. Grade A. No questions. It's all there. All yours." He moved across to a filing cabinet. He handed me a neatly typed, seven page essay, my name at the top, his red ink on it "56 marks, Grade A". I clutched my blouse to me still.
"And that's all you want? To touch my breasts?" I asked. Mr. Newark smiled.
"If that's all you want, Beth." He handed me the essay. "To show I'm true to my word take it." He held it out. "Go on, put it in your bag." I moved forward slowly and let my blouse drop. I took the essay and folded it in half. "Good girl. We understand one another." I stood, waiting to see what he would say next. "Now. Take that blouse off." I hesitated and pulled it off slowly. He pulled down the blind at his window and there I stood, just in my school skirt and bra. "Lovely." He said, reaching out and firmly taking my right breast in his big, manly hand. Despite myself a shiver of desire ran through me. He registered it, because his smile widened. "You like that?" I didn't respond. He rubbed the nipple through the lace. "They really are lovely and big, Beth. What size are they?" I opened my mouth, but stuttered.
"36 FF, Sir." I said. He rubbed the nipple harder. I moaned, softly.
"Such a beautiful size." I could feel myself getting hotter and underneath my knee-length skirt, my legs trembled. Mr. Newark noticed because he gestured that I should sit on the desk in front of him. "Take the bra off, Beth." He said, helping with the straps. "Let me hold them properly." I slipped it off and he stood before me, taking one in each hand. I noticed that he had an erection. For some reason this excited me, and as he moved closer, I felt my pussy dampening, a feeling that was quite new to me around a real-life man and not in my fantasies. "Beth, tell me," Mr. Newark began, "Are you a virgin?" I shook my head, nervously.
"No, Sir." He looked pleased.